


The Feeling

by churb



Category: Wander Over Yonder
Genre: !!!, Gen, Hospitals, Needles, Other, Sickfic, because if anyone needs the mom thing it is wander., cue sylvia doing the mom thing, does nothing about it because irresponsible bab, he has ivs, he needs the mom thing., needles are a tw for this, wander gets sick basically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2014-10-29
Packaged: 2018-02-23 01:44:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2529416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/churb/pseuds/churb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wander is not good at telling people things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Feeling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mage/gifts).



The whole thing starts at about two o clock in the afternoon on some particular day you don't really care to remember.

Sometimes you have crazy days. Sometimes you have crazy days where you almost die. These are far too prevelant in your everyday life, to the point where you're starting to count the days where your life is not threatened as ordinary and unmemorable.

You also sometimes have days where you almost get killed over a sock. Or a penny. Or someone's left shoe, or something. But you prefer to forget those, or, at the very least, try. (What do you mean not everyone has those days? They're totally ordinary.)

But today involved no threats on your life whatsoever, to the point where you're almost bored with the lack of almost death, and this enables you to notice that your buddy is quieter than normal today.

This deserves a poke, so you reach up and do just that.

"You doing okay up there?"

He's quiet for a little longer, before snapping out of whatever it is he's snapped out of.

"Oh, uh. Yeah. Yeah, uh. Doing just fine."

Which doesn't sound too convincing, but you ignore this obvious deathly foreshadowing and keep walking, feeling somewhat relieved when he moves to cling to you. Not too out of it, then. (Sometimes you get kind of paranoid that he'll get distracted and let go. And fall off. And you'll walk for like half a planet without noticing he's gone. Which would, to say the least, kind of suck. You try to lose him as least often as you can. You panic too much when you can't see him, and for good fucking reason, thank you very much.)

Yeah, today's going fine! You can't see anything bad happening at all today.

(A title card flashes up right next to your head: The Total And Complete Idiot. At least, it would, if physics and hindsight worked like that.)

It's a little later on that Wander perks up; there's a rabbit and it looks sad. So you stop by the rabbit that looks sad and ask it what it could possibly need, and as Wander motivationaly babbles on, you resign yourself to another one of those days.

"--but mark my words, little guy, we--"

...

He stops midsentence, and after you realise this isn't a natural pause, you look up to see him biting his lip and sort of. Staring into space. He doesn't look well at all, you think. He's a little paler than usual. Nauseous looking, even.

You decide the natural thing to do here is shake his shoulder a little.

"Still okay?"

And boom, there it is. "Oh, yeah, sorry. Sort of...spaced out a little there! Haha. Sorry. I just get...really distracted. Sometimes."

And on he goes. You let him ramble about his problems for another solid minute and focus on whatever the hell that just was.

His movements are twitchy, and his voice sounds a little too high pitched, and he's speaking a little too fast, and something's definitely wrong here but against your better judgement you ignore it, and focus on getting bunny to Carrotland or whatever.

\--

Which goes fine, you guess. You nearly get set fire to, but that's all in a day's work, you guess.

Wander is almost silent as you trot along to find somewhere to sleep; he's just sort of flopped on you, and you assume it's because he's exhausted. So you don't say anything and hope he sleeps a little, because you've spent enough time with the guy to know that if he gets too het up he does not sleep easy.

Re: The box situation.

(You still think that was a dick move.)

Eventually, you try to attract his attention; you don't say his name too loudly, in case you wake him up, but you say it, and when he doesn't reply you smile a little. It makes your life so much easier when he tuckers himself out. It's that or he stays up half the night asking you stupid questions. ("What if birds aren't singing? What if they're just crying because they're afraid of heights?")

Eventually, you find a relatively safe space to sleep, and you settle yourself down, before gently removing Wander from your back and laying him do

Oh.

He's too still. You recognise it immediately, and some sort of instinct compels you to move your hand to his neck and feel for a pulse. Okay, he still has one, that's good, but it's too weak, and when you lean a little closer to his chest he's not breathing like he should be.

And he's not asleep, you suddenly realise. He's unconscious.

"Wander?" You gingerly hit him in the face to see if that'll do any good. It doesn't, not that you were genuinely expecting it to, truly, and you slump backwards. Okay, don't panic. Plan B. You don't have a plan B. Okay. Common sense.

You have no medical knowledge. Get him to a hospital.

  
The nearest hospital to your current location is Enfameria 12, which is convinient because the whole damn planet is a hospital. You went there once as a kid when you had tonsilitis. Not a pleasant experience.

You eventually find their Accident and Emergency room after a lot of fretting, and make your way over to the check in desk. The receptionist on the other side is filing his nails, and after about half an hour looks up at you with their eyes narrowed and a bored expression on his face.

"Is there a problem?"

You're going to slap something.

"Well gee, I don't know. I mean, my friend here isn't breathing, but I'm sure that's just a _minor_ setback, and I'm here because I _want to be._ " You hope the effect is intensified by the fact you're literally carrying Wander's unconscious body and if that doesn't scream problem you frankly do not know what does.

Huff. "Okay. Take a seat."

You glower at him and stalk away, perching yourself on a plastic chair (are you meant for chairs?), holding Wander as close as you can. Every so often he lets out a small, ineffective cough, which doesn't exactly worry you any less.

God, you've been waiting here for ages. You feel like you're about to burst and slap something when a nurse or receptionist or someone finally approaches your chair.

Good, you think. Something can finally start happening.

\--

And it does.

It takes the assorted medical team (someone called for backup, evidently) basically no time to get him to some sort of side room and ask about the day's events, thank god, and you nod and explain and try to take everything in while they confiscate his hat and replace it with a toobig hospital gown (which is kind of unnecessary considering he doesn't usually wear anything, but you let it slide) and stick like, ten needles in his hand. You hope that does something.

(Well, obviously they're not just doing it for the S&G, but you hope it does something useful.)

You babble personal details and medical history and allergies as you follow them and the wheely bed through never ending hallways, and when they finally get him to a room you sit yourself on a chair next to the bed, as close as you can get. Fuck you, visiting hours.

(Well technically those don't apply to you. You lied about being a relative so you could stay with him and look after him. But the point still stands.)

There are far too many IVs here. You wonder what's in all of them, leaning back against your chair and stare at Wander almost nervously. Poor guy, you think. He's certainly been through a lot. You don't know what happened, but it sure came on quick, and without even thinking about it you lean forward and smooth his...

....hair? Head fur??? Whatever it is. You don't care right now. Why are you thinking about this.

Apart from that, you leave him to sleep, and he does, for a good five or six hours. You catnap during this time, and you're not refreshed but it's better than no sleep at all, and you're trying to read an incredibly boring TRUE STORIES!! magazine (My Husband Ate My Cat-- On Our Honeymoon!!) when you feel something brush against your arm.

It turns out to be a hand, and your magazine is forgotten as you swivel back to the bed. "Hey, buddy. Don't strain yourself." More hair stroking. "Feeling any better?"

Mumble mumble.

"Hmm?"

"....where 'm I."

"Uh." That doesn't exactly answer your question, but you don't push too hard. "Enfameria 12. Hospital planet? You gave me quite the scare back there, dude."

There's an "Oh." and then he tries to sit himself up and there's an "Ow." and you lean over and help him into the sitting position because apparently, when you have four IVs stuck in each hand, putting weight on them to sit up hurts, who'd have thunk it.

"...When did we get here?" He looks genuinely confused, bless him. "I don't remember that."

Beat.

"...I remember the rabbit! I mean--"

You cut him off. "We got here after you passed out." This seems to silence him, and you sigh a little, because today has not been good, and continue. "Any idea what's up? I mean, this came on really quickly. You were fine yesterday."

"Haha. Yeah. It's...odd, huh." The look he has is almost sheepish, and you narrow your eyes, because he's not making eye contact, and he sounds and looks incredibly guilty about something.

" _Wander._ " You say.

"I mean, you know, I was okay yesterday, I mean totally, and today was just like, whoa, and I mean, that's kind of--"

"Wander." If you ever have children, you hope this is the sort of voice that intimidates them just enough to not pull the reasonable amount of bullshit to become decent beings. Or however that sentence was supposed to be phrased. Not that this will ever happen, because

A. Your life leaves no room for a partner, not that you're looking for that right now, and  
B. You already have an overgrown child, apparently.

"...Mhm?"

"How long has this been going on." You keep a total poker face but try to make your eyes all intense and intimidating and stuff. You hope it works and you're not just mindlessly squinting like a fool.

Mumble mumble.

"A little louder, please."

"..........About three weeks?"

You almost choke on something. You're not sure what, but something.

"Wh--"

"That's a rough estimate! I mean, it, uh, might be a little le--"

" _Three weeks_??"

Beat.

"......Maybe?"

You count to ten in your head. You get angry easily, and you're not sure slapping him is going to do you any good here, no matter how much part of you wants to.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

He looks away, and his hands are clasped, and pretty tightly too. You idly think that's going to hurt a little what with all the wires.

"I thought it was fine. I just didn't want to worry you!"

So suddenly passing out in the middle of the desert is going to make you worry less. But you decide not to say that.

Instead, you opt for "Well, as you probably guessed that didn't exactly work out. You think next time you could try and, yknow. Tell me these things?"

He's hardcore staring at his feet now.

Then he says "I'm sorry." and he doesn't sound like he usually does when he screws up. There's still some sort of element of not taking it seriously, or not being totally crushed, even. Now, he just sounds out of it.

Then he starts to cry.

He doesn't cry much, but when he does, you generally know what to do to solve it. Whether situationally based, or because you just know him too well. This time is different. He doesn't cry like he does when he cries normally; he's being quiet and trying to suppress it but it's not happening, and there's a lot of swallowing and holding his breath involved.

You pull him close and try to encourage him to let it out, patting his back in a way you hope is reassuring. (You're not good at this. For all you know you're just mindlessly hitting him in the back.) He curls himself up in a little ball and clings, and he's saying something but you can't quite make out what being that he's hysterical and also buried in your shoulder, so you just tell him to shush in the nicest way possible.

Did you mention you're not good at this.

But eventually he calms and slumps against you, and you move him back to his original position, laying him down as gently as you can and pulling the covers up.

Cue awkward silence.

Awkward silence broken only by you tucking him in as snugly and securely as possible. You're not good at the whole caring thing, as you previously mentioned, but you hazard a guess that he'll probably sleep better if he's cucooned. It's a psychological thing. You think.

Oh, yeah, sleeping is a thing, isn't it.

"....Are you gonna...sleep a little more, then?"

There's a pause, and then he says "I don't know." and he still sounds a little choked up.

"I mean, um. You put me down. And then I guess I kind of ended up like this." He tries to gesture but that's awkward under all the blankets, and by the look on his face the IVs didn't like it either.

The clock on the wall says it's three in the morning, so you just nod, and try to do what you can with his pillows considering he's laying on them. "It's pretty late."

"....Or early."

Now is not the time for your metaphorical bullshit, Wander. "Or both. Or, yknow. An hour that most people sleep through." Meaningful look. And holy shit, did he just roll his eyes.

You decide to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"Alright, you've got me there." He snuggles as much as he can considering you've basically immobilised him. "Goodnight, Sylvia."

It better be, you think.

"Goodnight, Wander."

\--

So, as it turns out, he's a bit of an idiot.

The virus he contracted didn't make itself obvious to you sooner because apparently, it has a gestation period. It sort of builds itself up quietly for 23 days exactly ("about three weeks") and then starts screwing things up from there.

Yesterday was day one of Operation Screw Things Up From There.

You're shoved into a side room at about four by some nurses who are far too concerned about you and not concerned enough with Wander, but eventually one of them manages to win you over by pointedly telling you that you're not going to be able to effectively look after him if you're sleep deprived yourself.

So you get four or five hours before giving up and trudging back to the ward. Once you find it. It doesn't take too long, but, yknow, hospital planet. You get a wrong room about five times.

When you return, you're politely informed that during the night, somehow, while you were gone (like the damn thing was waiting), his temperature spiked and whoopdedoo guess who has a fever. He's getting fluid through the needle tubes and there's an ice pack on his head, and you guess that's a reasonable level of treatment, so you sit yourself back in the overly uncomfortable chair (not made for long stays, these things) and continue stroking his hairfurwhatever.

He stays asleep, thankfully, and you allow yourself to relax for a while, in between flipping through more magazines generously left on your table. (I Used To Be A Goldfish-- I've Found My True Calling!) You also try to ignore him talking in his sleep, which isn't very successful because some of this is hilarious and you swear to god he has the weirdest fever dreams of anyone you've ever met.

The rest of Day 2 (though why you're narrating this like a bad apocalypse movie god only knows) passes without too much hassle. Mostly. At some point, his dreams take a turn for the worse, and you end up pulling him out of bed again in an attempt to try and convince him that nothing is going to kill him.

At this point, infection be damned. You're not keeping any sort of distance.

Eventually he calms enough for you to tuck him back in, and from then on he just sleeps and you don't hear anything from him for the rest of the day.

Well, you tell a lie. You don't hear anything from him until the end of Day 3.

You're halfway through My Boyfriend Turns Into A Snake Sometimes when something tugs at your arm again. You put the magazine down and help him sit up again, because apparently he didn't learn from last time.

He looks a mess. But then, he has been asleep for about thirty consecuitive hours.

There's a glass of water by his bed, and you try to hand it over but his hands are shaking too much as he tries to take it so you just sort of. Pour it at him instead. He doesn't seem to mind you helping him drink it, or he might just be too sick to care. You're both silent for a little longer, and a little after you put his glass down he speaks.

"What day is it."

"Tuesday." You say, because it's Tuesday.

He pauses, as if considering this, and suddenly launches himself forward, slightly more forward than bolt upright but not much. "I've been out for _two days_?"

Something starts beeping and you realise he's disconnected his heart monitor. You sigh and plug it back into the screen while he sort of blinks in a confused sort of way, and you can just hear him wondering what the noise is.

".....Was that me?"

"Mhmm." You try to sound more disapproving than you currently do because something about all this is kind of funny. "Think you can go a little slower next time?"

"Sorry." He fidgets, obviously uncomfortable, and slumps back against his pillows. There's a pause then, and he speaks after the awkward silence.

"....Was I seriously out all that time?"

You nod. "This is a nasty bug you've got there, buddy. Maybe tell me these things next time?"

He doesn't say anything, and you know he already explained his reasoning, but given that it's stupid-ass reasoning, you've elected to ignore it.

\--

On Day 4 he gets ansty.

He really, really wants to get out of bed. Like, really. You have to physically put him back about three times. Eventually you don't want to leave the room because you know he'll just wander around (no pun intended) aimlessly as soon as you leave.

You attempt to explain that he still has IVs in (though not as many; they removed two) and it's probably not a good idea to walk around too much (even though the stand is movable. That's not the point.) but you forget he's literally five and he demonstrates this by whining.

"I'm just not used to staying in one place all the time." A huff. "I mean, it's great! This is great. Everyone's really trying to help. I just really, really, _really_ need to move."

You've told him it'll only be a couple more days about three times now. He's not listening, or interested. He wants it to be now. This is apparently perfectly reasonable.

"I'm really, _really bored_."

You lean over and throw one of the magazines at him. "Some lady turned into an octopus."

"Oh, really?" He seems delighted by this, and starts flipping through, cabin fever apparently over. "Neat."

He sounds so fascinated and you're not sure how to react to that, because privately someone turning into an octopus is the exact sort of thing that freaks you out. Eventually, you change the subject and suggest a bath, providing you can get someone to agree. You don't think just whisking him out of his room and down the corridor is going to land you in good favour. Especially considering that he's quarantined. The virus is past the infectious stage, apparently, and if you were to catch it you would already have, but it's better safe than sorry.

You're pretty sure Wander only agrees because it's an excuse to leave his room.

  
Surprisingly enough, he didn't expect you to stay with him during his bath.

Not that he's complaining, he makes sure to stress, because you can keep talking about all sorts of awesome things and that's totally fine and dandy with him, he just didn't expect it.

Alright, you think to yourself, who's going to tell this guy that contracting a serious illness where the treatment involves quarantining, intravenous fluid and medication, and a three week gestation period is kind of grounds for not leaving him alone for too long. Especially submerged in water.

The answer is not you, because you're not going to underestimate his intelligence. The lack of travel is probably just getting to him.

"Well, that," he eventually admits, "....and I don't really...like people watching me bath."

"You don't usually wear clothes anyway." is your reply. You do try to get to the point.

"Well." And you've got him there. Cue stuttering, before his shoulders slump and a weak mumble of "that's different" signals your victory. Hopefully you're less of a sore winner now than you were at the Galactic Conjunction 6000.

(Well, it might be that, and it might be the fact you're washing his back and you know he really, really likes being petted. There are things that get him quiet, and that is one of them.)

Alright, you're done. You unplug the bath and engulf Wander in a towel that's bigger than him (what Wander. Where. There is no Wander here. Just a fidgeting towel.) and sit him back down in the wheelchair that he doesn't actually need because how do you think he usually gets around????, but that's okay. You're not going to be angry about that.

Or offended.

The gown is thankfully discarded, albiet replaced with a new one, but hell, at least they actually had his size, this time.

"Does that feel any better?" Because he certainly looks better.

Beat.

"......I feel cleaner."

"So I take it that's a yes."

Your reply is a mumble mumble something he can still walk so you keep wheeling him along and leave him to it.

\--

"I hope you learnt something this week."

He fidgets a little on your back.

"There's such a thing as bad ice cream?"

Just bad food in general, you think. Even hospital planets don't cook well, apparently. Or have the capability to keep icecream not melted.

And you're fairly sure that wasn't strawberry, but sure. Believe what you want, icecream. Believe your lies.

"Apart from that."

"Oh. Oh, uh. Octopi can touch type?"

How to deliberately evade the issue?

"No. I mean stop trying to not worry me. It doesn't work."

Fidget.

"...I didn't know it was going to be _bad_."

"Exactly."

Beat.

"...So do we have a deal?"

Sigh. "Yes, we do. I'm sorry."

You reach up and pat his foot in a way you hope is reassuring. "It's okay. Nothing too bad happened, right?"

And you keep on walking, because you for one are glad that's ov

"Sylvia?"

"Yes, Wander?"

".....They've still got my hat."


End file.
